


This is my kingdom come

by deadb4credits



Series: All in good time (we'll be just fine) [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek is a puppy, Drabble, Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2012-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-13 11:28:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/503042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadb4credits/pseuds/deadb4credits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all goes wrong, somehow, and Stiles ends up in hospital.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is my kingdom come

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this drawing](http://lolbatty.tumblr.com/post/30022366370).
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely [scribblscrabbl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblscrabbl)!

He aches all over. Feels like he got rammed by a train or maybe smashed by the Hulk. He only remembers the night in fractures, like the broken images from a dream you’ve just woken up from. There was fighting and werewolves and screaming and running and nothing out of the ordinary, but something went wrong and Stiles was at the wrong place at the wrong time, old cliché that it is. 

He can’t remember if it was a miscommunication or maybe he forgot to call out, he’s hit his head pretty bad, doctors said his short-term memory has been damaged. Temporarily, hopefully. 

There’s barely any light in the room, only a sliver of the waning moon streaking through the parted curtains and Stiles blinks bleary eyes towards it, tries to get the glowing slice in focus, tries to get his stupid eyes to work.

He wants to get up and leave, fucking _hates_ hospitals, but they’re keeping him in for observation and Stiles just wishes someone was here. His dad has been there all day, but Stiles sent him home when he couldn't stand to look at his exhaustion anymore; the bruises under his eyes almost matching Stiles‘ own, eyes drooping closed every few seconds. But now he wishes he hadn’t, the silence and darkness of the room creeping up on him, scaring him amidst the morphine and pain and edge of delirium. 

A sound like scraping nails on wood pulls him back, away from the inside of his mind, from terrors and doubts, and he’s back in the room, blinking at the moon. Turning his head towards the door he watches passively as it opens slowly, clawed hand gripping the edge as someone steps inside. There’s a long moment of silence, the echo of a clock ticking away and Stiles counts to 87 until Derek steps out of the shadows and lingers just outside the streak of moonlight on the floor.

He keeps his eyes on the floor, fingers twisted into fists and his mouth a thin hard line, like the rest of his body. He’s strung so tight Stiles is worried he’s gonna snap if he says anything. It’s the second time in his life he’s been at a loss for words, brain frozen up and it’s odd, because this time it’s _him_ lying in a hospital bed and not _her_. 

Opening his mouth he tries to force words out, but his tongue is sluggish, feels thick and useless and in the end he doesn’t know what to say anyway. Instead he lifts a hand, the one not wrapped in thick gauze, and curls his fingers inwards in- what he hopes- is an inviting gesture. 

At once Derek’s entire body relaxes, like someone put a spell on him, and he stumbles forward before slumping down by the side of Stiles bed, completely forgoing any chairs and just letting his knees hit the floor hard. One of his hands grip onto the bedsheets tightly, just barely touching Stiles‘ injured arm, and he rests his head on the mattress with a soft sigh, nose turned towards Stiles’ thigh. 

Not knowing what to do _at all_ Stiles lets his hand hover awkwardly above Derek’s head, feeling oddly like he should pet him, maybe, which, uh, just adds to the whole delirium and _high_ on morphine thing. 

“Don’t do that again,” Derek says, words barely understandable and rough.

“Hmm?” Stiles hums, his hand finally back on the bed, fingers close to Derek’s hair, but not actually touching. 

“Don’t-,” he stops talking, makes a sort of whiny noise and pushes his head up until it bumps into Stiles’ hand, who automatically threads his fingers through the hair, nails lightly scratching the scalp. It stops the odd noise Derek’s making and makes Stiles sigh, glad he’s on drugs because otherwise he’d be freaking out over _what the fuck_ is going on. But as it is, all he cares about is the fact that he’s not alone anymore, even if Derek is being super weird, it’s better than staring at the moon and willing the darkness away.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song "Demons" by Imagine Dragons.


End file.
